


indecision

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [42]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 03:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11501124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Am I a supervillain again or something?” Robbie asks.“You’re in pain,” Saul asks.“Pretty sure that’s how all the supervillain origin stories go,” Robbie says.





	indecision

_How are you doing?_ Georgie texts him when he’s on his way home from his session with Saul, slumped against the window while his ma chatters about her church group. She doesn’t need him to listen, just to fill the silence, he knows that, he got it _from_ her, but she still frowns when he checks his phone.

“Matty’s asking how I’m doing,” Robbie says, which is technically true, if not currently relevant.

His ma softens. “He’s a good boy,” she says. She used to say that about Georgie too, well before they ever got together. “You should keep that boy,” she said, that time Georgie ran around doing shit for him while he was sick, and fuck, he _wanted_ to.

“Yeah,” Robbie says. “He is.” Not like Matty suddenly isn’t one just because she was wrong about Georgie.

_my shrink got me Superman tissues_ , Robbie texts Georgie.

_Amazing. Not Spiderman though?_

Robbie doesn’t know why shit like this, Georgie remembering Spiderman was Robbie’s favorite, still hits like a physical fucking blow.

“What’s wrong?” his ma asks.

“Just—” Robbie says. “It’s been a long day.”

“I know, topolino,” she says, running a hand through his hair when they reach a red light, and he exhales a ragged breath and lets her.

*

Sundays are always a day off from training and right now Robbie really wishes that wasn’t the case, because it means Robbie has zero excuses lined up when they get home and ma asks, “Come with me to church on Sunday?” 

He’s honestly kind of amazed she hasn’t asked before now, considering his parents go every Sunday, and he did too, growing up. If there was any bonus to that listless, lifeless feeling he was rocking when he got home, that still comes and goes in waves, at least it meant she wasn’t making him go anywhere, except, Robbie guesses, to a therapist.

“I’m really—” Robbie doesn’t know, exactly, how to say he’d hate nothing more, considering he’s living under her roof, eating her food, getting rides to his therapist. It was a lot easier when he was a teenager and just totally happy to be a dick. He maybe hasn’t changed all that much, but he’s definitely no longer cool with being a dick to his mother. “I don’t really—”

“I think it’d be good for you,” she says.

“I don’t,” Robbie mutters.

“God doesn’t judge, Roberto,” she says, which is sure as shit not true, from what he grew up hearing, but whatever.

“It’s not God I’m worried about,” Robbie says. The last time he went with her he got swarmed by all of her church volunteer friends congratulating him on his season, as if any of them watched it — except Mrs. Saputo, who’s hardcore about the Bruins, according to his mamma — trying to set him up with their daughters, nieces, cousins. It’s not that Robbie wants his mamma to tell them he’s gay, fuck knows that news would spread fast with those gossips, but it made him feel small, like he was a kid again, worried his parents wouldn’t love him if they know what he was. Worried God wouldn’t.

He’s over it. Fuck it. And fuck God if that’s the deal-breaker.

Robbie wonders if Saul would raise an eyebrow at ‘fuck God’, or if he’d manage to keep the poker face. Maybe he should try it out.

He ends up going, because she looked upset and it was the least he could fucking do. He’s more interested in watching the various levels of boredom on his father’s face than in listening to the sermon, which is pretty standard shit on compassion he’s heard for most his life. He’s not so out of the habit that he can’t work on autopilot, and when service is over Robbie says he has to piss and he’ll meet his parents at the car to avoid the swarm of busybodies that’ll descend if they see him. He’s pretty sure they both see right through him, but neither of them say anything.

“That was a nice service,” his mamma says, on their way home, and Robbie meets his papa’s eyes in the rearview mirror, catching the edge of a smirk before he looks away, feeling complicit.

*

Texting Georgie inevitably comes up during his next session with Saul. He didn’t mean to talk about it, kept telling himself it was no big deal, but Robbie ends up blurting it out almost as soon as he’s finished bitching about church. He decided against the ‘Fuck God’ thing, since there’s a tiny little part of him that thinks he’ll get smote on the spot.

“Do you think you put him in an uncomfortable position?” Saul says, after Robbie tells him. He’s embarrassed about it now, him basically fucking begging Georgie to give a shit about him, though he’s not sure he entirely regrets it. And yeah, he was aware, but it’s one thing to be aware and another to hear Saul say it. Robbie swears, the more he sees Saul, the more Saul busts his balls.

He kind of likes that Saul calls him on his shit. Saul probably knows that. Fucking shrinks.

“Well, yeah,” Robbie says. “I mean, what’s he going to answer, ‘no, hope this tips you over the edge’. Even if he didn’t mean it, he’s kind of stuck.”

“Do you think he didn’t mean it?” Saul asks.

Robbie swallows. “I know he did,” he says. “I know he does. I just needed to hear him say it.”

“Why?” Saul asks.

“I don’t know,” Robbie says, and when Saul doesn’t say anything, “I don’t want to be the only one.”

“The only one what?” Saul asks.

“Fucked up over this,” Robbie says.

“You think Georgie’s fucked up over this?” Saul asks.

“Saul, _language_ ,” Robbie says.

“Robbie,” Saul says.

“Yeah,” Robbie says. “I think he is.”

“And that makes you feel better?” Saul says.

“Am I a supervillain again or something?” Robbie asks.

“You’re in pain,” Saul asks. 

“Pretty sure that’s how all the supervillain origin stories go,” Robbie says.

Saul leans forward in your chair. “You’re not a supervillain,” he says, which is kind of hilarious to hear from a graying, middle-aged dude in a blazer, looking serious as fuck as he says it. Kind of comforting too, though.

“Disaster averted,” Robbie says, wiping his brow.

“You said you needed to know Georgie was fucked up over this,” Saul says. It’s weird to hear him swear. Robbie can just tell he’s not the kind of guy who does it usually. “What else do you need from Georgie?”

Robbie laughs. “Do you want a fucking list?” he asks.

“What would be the first item on that list?” Saul asks.

“I’m not actually giving you a list, Saul,” Robbie says.

“Just the first item,” Saul asks. “Take your time,” he says, like he can see the question’s taken Robbie aback.

“I don’t know,” Robbie says finally, when the silence gets to be too much.

“I think maybe that’s something we should try to figure out,” Saul says.

“Why?” Robbie asks. “It’s not like it matters.”

“Why do you say that?” Saul asks.

“I mean, Georgie gets his way, he’ll be somewhere else next season and we don’t have to see each other except across the ice,” Robbie says.

“Georgie gets his way,” Saul says. “You don’t want that?”

“I —” Robbie says. “We play well together. Anyway, Georgie’s asking for a trade, so.”

“And if he isn’t traded?” Saul asks.

The idea of him not getting traded is enough to get panic clawing through Robbie’s throat, but it’s still — he doesn’t want —

“We play well together,” Robbie repeats.

“Hockey aside —” Saul says.

“There isn’t —”, Robbie says. “I can’t put it aside. It’s my _job_.”

“Okay,” Saul says, then, “Do you want Georgie to be traded?”

Robbie swallows, picks at a loose thread on the hem of his shorts.

“Robbie?” Saul asks.

“No,” Robbie mumbles.

“Why not?” Saul asks.

“Because it’s not done yet,” Robbie says.

“What’s not done?” Saul asks. 

“ _Us_ ,” Robbie says. 

Saul doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not talking about like,” Robbie starts, stops, hates that Saul doesn’t finish the sentence for him, just waits him out, makes him fucking _say_ it. “Like I get it, he fucking dumped me.” Or whatever the fuck you’d call ending…whatever. Robbie doesn’t know if there’s a word for it, beyond ‘ending it’, though it still doesn’t feel _finished_. “I know that’s done.”

“So what isn’t done?” Saul asks.

“He was my best friend,” Robbie says. “Like, yeah, he was my boyfriend, but. He was my best friend. Obviously we’re not together anymore, and we’re not friends, but like. I don’t know. It doesn’t feel done.”

“Do you want to be his friend again?” Saul asks. “Or do you want it to be done?”

“I don’t know,” Robbie says. “Like, how the fuck do you get closure if you’re still stuck together every day? That’s pretty much the definition of something not being done.” He doesn’t even know how the fuck to get closure if it turns out Georgie leaves him. And it — he knows it’s not leaving _him_ , it’s the Caps, but. It still feels like that.

“Do you want to be his friend?” Saul asks again. That’s the worst thing about him. Other people, Robbie can avoid answering something by taking a step to the side, but Saul silently watches him take the step and then asks the stupid question again. “Or do you want closure?”

“I miss him,” Robbie says. “I don’t know if that’s the answer you want.”

Saul looks at him.

“Yeah, I know, ‘I don’t _want_ any answer, Robbie, I just want you to be _honest_ ,” Robbie says.

“Is honesty something you have typically trouble with?” Saul asks. It sounds dry, but maybe Robbie’s projecting on him or some shit, because fuck knows it’s not something he’s ever been accused of.

Robbie laughs. “Yeah, no,” he says. “Pretty sure people would tell me to be less honest.”

Saul looks at his watch. “We’re running out of time, so I’m going to assign you some homework,” he says.

“Dude, _seriously_?” Robbie asks.

Saul continues as if Robbie didn’t say a thing. “I think writing down a list of things you want from Georgie would be a useful exercise.”

“Because I don’t think about Georgie enough, you’re going to make me do it more,” Robbie says. “Here, I can do it now, save us both some time. One: have never been born. Done.”

“Achievable things,” Saul says. “A list of things that you think would be helpful if you’re going to continue to play together.”

“What’s the point?” Robbie says. “If he gets—”

“I think, whether he’s traded or not, it’s something it would help you to express,” Saul says. 

“I don’t even know what you’re asking from me here,” Robbie says. “Like what does achievable even mean?”

Do you want a romantic relationship? Do you want a friendship? Do you want closure?” Saul asks.

“I told you, I don’t _know_ ,” Robbie says.

“And that’s what I’m asking from you,” Saul says. “Because I think we need to figure it out.”

“You keep saying ‘we’ here, but I’m the one getting homework assigned,” Robbie complains. “And please don’t say ‘you’re doing this for _you_ , Robbie, not for me’.”

“Okay,” Saul says, and Robbie fucking _swears_ he sees the edge of a smirk. “I won’t.”

Robbie has _got_ to stop making Saul’s arguments for him.

“Fine,” Robbie says, then points at Saul. “But I’m going to be really resentful about it.”

If this was one of Robbie’s guys, this would be the perfect chirp set-up, Robbie practically gifting them with a ‘When are you _not_ resentful, Bardi?’, and that’s — he doesn’t want to be. He’s not sure how to shut it off, but he doesn’t want to be anymore.

“How many things do I need to get an A on my homework, Teach?” Robbie asks.

“As many as you feel the need to write,” Saul says, which is the worst answer ever.

Robbie blows out an exasperated breath. “Fine,” he says. He’s thought of and scrapped at least a dozen by the end of his drive home, but sitting cross legged on his bed with paper snatched from the printer in his father’s office, pen in a tight knuckled hand, he has no idea where to begin.


End file.
